Catch Me If You Can
by thesonicwizard
Summary: Dean and Cas are two world renowned serial killers, and begin a game of cat and mouse, leaving each other messages in their victims, winking/waving at each other on security cameras. Eventually, it's going to come to a head when they both pick the same victim; Sam Winchester. Inspired by a post from therangerofthenorth on tumblr.
1. Dean Winchester

Nothing got Dean Winchester off quite like the sound of a bullet sinking into someone's chest. He relished the way a perfect shot could erase a whole person, a whole life, right from existence. The power it flooded through him rushed down to his toes. People called him sick, twisted, tortured. But they didn't know. They had never watched something beg for its life, express its fear aloud, completely at the mercy of a stranger. Animals don't scream, but humans, do they scream.

As a child, Dean was at least pseudo-normal. He didn't like the other kids and mostly kept to himself. Teachers encouraged his father to try to bring out a little life in young Dean. However, when they found out his mother had died when Dean was only four, they quickly became quiet on the subject. They let Dean carry on and play with his magnifying glass and ants, and sit in the back of the room. A few teachers had tried to give Dean the 'special' treatment, but Dean had none of that. He would stare blankly at any teacher who tried to sit him down and talk about what games or sports he liked.

As he grew older, one thing Dean did enjoy was hunting. It was a past time of his father's, and Dean accompanied him on many hunting trips. He took to it quickly, and practiced his shooting in all of his free time. His father was just glad to see him interested in something, and encouraged it.

Not long after Dean left highschool, his father died too. That was when Dean snapped completely. Suddenly deer weren't enough anymore. Dean wanted to go bigger. He needed that surge of power, and animals were just too easy.

The first time Dean had killed someone, he had planned it for months. Dean hadn't always done well in his arithmetic or on his spelling tests, but he was smarter than anyone had ever given him credit for. He had meticulously gone over every possible error again and again. Fingerprints, trace materials, shallow graves. Anything that could give him away. And finally, at 25, Dean was ready.

Electricity powered through him as he milled around the outside of the bar. That stupid blonde bitch from highschool was inside. She had gotten all pissed when Dean had been making out with another girl. She called him names, called him worthless. She was so insignificant no one would miss her if she disappeared. She could just drop off the face of the earth, _poof!_ All gone.

She stumbled out, alone. Dean smirked. She never had been the brightest. Dean slipped out from the shadows and walked up to her, his hands in his pockets. The girl stumbled again, and Dean reached out and caught her. "Whoa there, you alright?"

The girl mumbled out a slurred affirmative. Dean let out a laugh. "I don't think so. Come on, let me take you home."

The girl looked up at him quizzically as they walked to the car, leaning heavily on Dean. "Do I know you?"

Dean pretended to look confused. "I don't think so. In the car, there you go." Dean opened the door to his '67 Impala, and the girl half fell/half sat down in the seat.

"Well you're cute." The girl said, trying to smile seductively, but she suddenly lurched in her seat, feeling the alcohol churn in her.

Dean was mostly worried about getting vomit in his car, but continued to keep up the act. "You aren't half bad yourself." It was a complete lie. She'd been hotter in highschool. Still had nice boobs though.

The girl said very little the rest of the drive, and Dean kept silent as he navigated the Impala down back roads, away from traffic cams. They finally arrived at a desolate cabin in the middle of some woods.

"Where are we?" The girl mumbled, finally picking up on the fact Dean had never even asked her address.

Dean let out as suggestive smile. "Just thought you'd maybe want to spend some time alone."

The girl's eyes brightened. "Oh, yeah, that sounds great."

Dean opened the door to her side of the car and helped her out. "It sounds better than great, sweetheart." He ran his eyes along her body, pretending to be interested.

They went into the house, and Dean told the girl to head into the bedroom. He would be right there, he assured her, go ahead and get started. As the girl stumbled off to the bedroom, Dean went into the kitchen. He slipped on a pair of gloves, and reached under the sink to grab a few trash bags. Stuffing the bags in his pocket. He wrapped his hand around his gun, and headed into the bedroom.

The girl was sprawled out naked, and Dean smiled at her. She smiled back, until she saw his hand wrapped around the gun.

Fear flashed in her eyes for a brief second, just before Dean shot a bullet straight into her chest. He hit the heart, every time. Aiming for the head was faster, but it was messier. And this was no business to be messy in.

That being said, Dean was quick to staunch the bleeding with the sheet she laid on. He held it there for a while, waiting till the dark red spot stopped swelling across the fabric. The sheet was tossed in a trash bag, followed by her clothing on the floor. Those would all be burned later. Dean peered into the bullet wound, and taking a long pair of tweezers out of his jacket, extracted the bullet, and pocketed it. No need to leave evidence.

He then shoved the dead body into the other trash bag, lifting her limp frame and bending it. He broke a few bones to get her to fit properly, but it wasn't like she felt it. _Shame,_ he thought. Body tied up in the bag, Dean tore the rest of the sheets off the bed, and stuffed them in the first trash bag, throwing his gloves in last.

He put both bags in the trunk of the Impala, and drove off to a deserted bridge, way off in the middle of nowhere. It overlooked a deep lake, and Dean tossed the body in, watching it sink rapidly below the surface. He set the second bag on the pavement, and doused it with gasoline, dropping a lighter onto it. The mess burst into flames, and as soon as it sputtered out, Dean got up and drove away.

And he felt _fantastic._

Killing became habitual for Dean, and no matter how many times he did it, he got the same rush every time. It was an unquenchable thirst. Dean had made a name for himself by now, people all over the world want him dead. He'd gotten past the point of just covering up his tracks. Now he just knew how to hide. It was amazing how little people paid attention to the news. For a long time, Dean was the only big name out there. But now there was someone else.

Dean didn't know how he felt about the competition. The thing about his life was that there never really was much competition. So, Dean decided to try the new guy out. See what he was made of.

When Dean finished his killing spree that night, in a small little office building, he looked right up into the security cameras and winked. That would be the news that night, Dean was sure of it. And he was sure the new guy would be watching.

Making sure he was still in the line of sight of the video cameras, Dean grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and scribbled a note. He placed it a top one of the bodies, and walked out, feeling the rush of a kill surging through him.

_C-_

_Let's play a game._

_-D_


	2. Cas Novak

_"Someone wants to see you. I emailed you the video clip."_

"Yes, I saw it. I assumed this day would be arriving soon. Inform me of any new information."

"Yes, sir."

Cas snapped his cell phone shut, tucking the cheap disposable electronic into the pocket of his trench coat. He was in a hurry, it wouldn't be long before the police arrived. He slipped into the driver's seat of his sleek black Mustang, and revved the engine. It was a matter of minutes before he was flying down the interstate. The florescent blue clock on his dashboard flickered._ 2:01 AM. _

The blue lights flashed sometime around 4:30 AM when Cas pulled into an abandoned parking lot. The previously pitch black sky was starting to melt away towards grey, but he still had plenty of time.

The glass to the office building was smashed wide open, and Cas felt the shards crunch under his shoes as he entered the room. Dead bodies laid sprawled everywhere. Cas looked up into the security cam in the corner, blinking away with its red light. He followed its line of sight and stopped when he came to rest his eyes on the body of a young blonde woman. A red bloom spread across her blouse, her hands close to it, stained with red. It seemed like she had tried to stop the bleeding.

Cas bent down close to her and gently brushed the mass of blonde hair off her face. Her eyes were still wide open, and he lightly closed her eyelids. Cas shifted, and picked up the note Dean had left strewn across her body. He read over it, and shoved it in his pocket as he stepped over the bodies back into his car.

The sun started to peak over the horizon as Cas drove onward, and more cars began to join him on the previously empty highway. Cas flicked on the radio and a particular story was piquing his interest.

_"Five found dead at a small office building in Colorado. Caught on camera was the well known murder, Dean Winchester. Later in the night, a man believed to be Cas Novak arrived and removed evidence from the scene. If any of these men are seen or if you have any more information, please contact your local police department immediately. For pictures of the suspects, check our website at-"_

Cas switched off the radio. He chuckled a little to himself as he pulled out the crumpled note from his coat. "You're beginning to become very noticeable, Dean Winchester. I believe I am going to become overshadowed if I do not put forth a little more effort."

Cas rolled down the window of his car and tossed the note out the window, watching as it tumbled down the road and underneath a barrage of tires. "Play a game, then? I suppose it's my move."

Cas stopped his Mustang in the parking lot of an old, beaten down motel. He shimmied off his trench coat, and shoved it underneath the front seat, leaving him in only a suit and blue tie. He pulled down the mirror in his sun visor and inspected his face. He had quite a bit of stubble on his face, and after his little cameo on the security camera, figured it would be wise to shave it off. He dug out a knife in his glove compartment and roughly shaved off the majority of his facial hair. It was messy, and he nicked himself a little, but he looked less like the man on the news.

Getting out of the car, he went around to the back to investigate the plates. After a moment of consideration, he decided he had switched placed recently enough that they could remain for now. He headed on into the motel, and got a room under the name Jimmy Smith.

Around 10 PM, Cas got in his car and drove along backroads to a large corporate looking building. Several windows were dark, lights long extinguished, but there were plenty still blazoning through the darkness. He approached the building, and went inside.

A professional looking woman sat behind a tall desk, and looked up when Cas walked in. "Excuse me sir, but office hours are over. If you could just come back tomorrow."

Cas looked at her blankly. "I have an appointment. I would appreciate if you could direct me to the CEO's office."

The woman furrowed her eyebrows. "Sir, we will be open tomorrow at 8, if you could just come back then."

Cas pulled out his gun from his waistband. "The CEO's office, please."

The woman's eyes widened, and tears started to run down her face. "T-top fl-floor. Second le-left."

"Thank you." Cas tucked his gun back in his waistband and headed for the elevator.

Instead of going straight to the top floor, he hit the button for the third to the top. The elevator slowly rose, and when it finally got to the floor, Cas went in search of the stairwell. He found it quickly, and climbed the last few floors to the top.

Most of the upper floor was deserted. People had left the office hours ago, but Cas knew the CEO would be staying late, finishing papers, filing reports. With a sharp rap, Cas knocked on the CEO's door. A voice inside asked him to come in, tinged with irritation.

An older man looked up from his desk, strewn with papers, to meet Cas. "Hello, is it important?"

Cas let out a smile. "Very. I wanted to talk to you about some of your recent policies, sir."

The man looked back down to his papers. "Be quick, I'm very busy. What about them?"

"I am afraid I find them to be rather unfair to the public, and to be straightforward, I disagree with them."

"Yes, well, not everyone can be happy," the man began. As he looked back up to Cas, he froze, eyes staring down Cas' gun.

"I disagree very strongly, sir." Cas pulled the trigger, and the man slumped over in his seat, blood pooling across the desk.

Cas found the camera in the middle of the room, and looked up into it, smiling widely. "Come and get me."

He quickly ripped the cam out from the wall after that, slicing the wires. With a brisk walk, he left the office, and disappeared back into the stairwell. He took the stairs two at the time; he knew it wouldn't be long before security started scrambling around. When he reached the bottom floor, he slipped out a side exit, and ran back to his car.

It was a matter of moments before the black mustang was back on the interstate, and Cas was once more gone from the glare of the public eye.


	3. Go Big or Go Home

((The reference to Roman Enterprises is not meant to imply that Dick Roman was the man Cas killed. It's simple a major corporation in the canon series, and I like to make connections.))

_The FBI is taking up the case regarding the recent murder of the well known Roman Enterprises CEO. The following is a tape of the murderer, Cas Novak. Viewer discretion is advised."_

The newscaster disappeared, and a grainy security camera feed took its place. Dean watched intently as Cas smiled widely, and beckoned for Dean's attention. _"Come and get me."_ The screen cut black, and the over polished news crew returned, requesting that if anyone had any information they should contact blah blahblah blah.

Dean shut off the TV, and it powered down with a small hum of electricity. He laid back on the cheap motel bed, stretching his hands above his head. He was surprised by the new guy's bluntness. Dean had thought he was the only one who could get away with being that obvious. The only one with enough skill. He was the best of the best. Apparently, Cas thought he was pretty damn special.

Dean kinda liked that the new guy was ballsy. Undoubtedly, he would need to pursue this line of investigation farther. Keep friends close, and enemies closer. However, he refused to go to Cas. If the guy wanted to play, he could come to Dean.

Leaning onto his side so he could reach the dresser, Dean grabbed his little flip phone, and punched in a number. He brought the receiver to his ear, and listened to the ring.

_"You idjit."_

"Most people use hello." Dean replied briskly.

_"Your face is flashing all over my television right now. What the hell are you getting at, boy?"_

"I need to see what this Cas kid is made of."

_"Why, so you can just blow a bullet through his brain? Can't you do that the easy way?"_

"Where's the fun in that? Just keep me updated. I've got to lay low for a while."

_"Yeah, yeah. You ungrateful son of a bitch."_

"Good talking to you." Dean snapped his phone shut, and sighed. If he was going to get the game to come to him, he would have to do something big. Another murder-spree love note wasn't going to cut it. The best plan would be to make himself a target, put himself right under Cas' radar. Unfortunately, Cas hadn't been on the scene long enough to create a noticeable pattern.

Dean knew there was a pattern, every serial killer had one. He had one himself. The key was cracking Cas'. Frustrated, Dean gulped down a large swig of beer. He didn't have enough information, dammit. He could always look him up, but that would mean using a computer, or going out in public more than necessary. Dean didn't need that trail behind him. Besides, Dean hated research.

The alternative was to succumb and go after Cas. But, Dean knew just how risky that was. It was exactly why he was trying to get Cas to come to him. In another circumstance, Dean might have decided to take the risk and go after the guy anyway, but not this time. Cas, as much as Dean hated to admit it, had the upper hand. Dean was much more well known, but that also meant Cas knew much more about Dean than Dean did about him.

Anger and frustration flushed over Dean, charged by the cheap alcohol he was rapidly consuming. His thoughts departed from Cas, and traveled to another project of his. It had been something he had been mulling over for a long time, and was generally where Dean turned his thoughts when he had nothing else to do.

The plan had been in the works for years, almost since Dean had picked up his little hobby. All that time planning was starting to come to a peak, however. Dean could feel it, it was almost time. The victim he had dedicated his whole life to killing. If there was any one person that had pushed Dean over the edge, and convinced him to go down the road he was on, it would be this one.

Although the time was drawing closer, Dean wasn't ready just yet. He let his thoughts turn back to Cas, and for the rest of the night he struggled over how to make his next move.

Dawn was just creeping over the horizon when Dean finally decided on what he was going to do. Putting exhaustion aside, he gathered his stuff and started putting the miles behind him. Time to play.


	4. Out in the Open

The blue haze of a laptop lit up Cas' face, highlighting the dark creases under his eyes and along the furrow of his brow. He was focused intently on the screen as he scrolled down the page, eyes flickering back and forth as he read. His legs had long grow numb from sitting by the time he finally leaned back into his chair and let out a long drawn out breath.

The past few hours, Cas has been meticulously reading over every scrap of information he could find on Dean. At first it was a trail of fuzzy news cameras and old reports, everything Cas had expected to find. In fact, he had seen most of it before; it was what led him to Dean in the first place. However, he considered it a good idea to go over it and refresh his memory.

Although pretty much everyone was looking up this terrible Dean Winchester fellow, and consequently Cas wasn't going to show up as a big mark on the radar, he still took precautions. He blocked his IP address, had his own wifi unit, and a few other tricks he learned from his associate Charlie.

Cas had decided that although Dean's most recent kill had been in Colorado, Dean would be much closer to Cas' current location in Illinois. The thing was, Dean knew how to hide. If Cas wanted to get to him, he was going to have to draw him out of whatever hole he lay waiting in. He also knew it was going to take something incredibly impressive. Cas knew what Dean was playing at, and it was all a big game of who was going to crack first and go find the other.

Bags and weapons packed in the Mustang, Cas was ready to set his trap for Dean. He had gotten close to no sleep the night before, having spent it plotting and planning. Adrenaline rushed through him, jolting him to alertness better than any espresso.

The adrenaline didn't just come from the excitement and anticipation, however. Cas, for the first time in a long time, felt nervous. What he was about to do was going to change the whole nature of this game. It was going to be bigger and riskier, but that was just what Cas needed to catch Dean's attention.

After putting hours of driving behind him, Cas pulled off the interstate into a city that was close to where Cas thought Dean might be. He didn't even bother to check into a hotel, but instead drove around for a while, until he saw what he wanted.

He parked several blocks away, and purposely dawned his trademark trenchcoat. Straightening his tie, he tucked his gun in its holster, and walked quickly down back alleyways to his destination. He turned a few heads, but it was no matter. He was about to turn many more.

Cas finally reached his destination. A long line of protesters stood along the sidewalk, preaching. Cas approached one of them, and tilted his head as he read their sign.

"Do you really believe this pointless, ruthless hate is what your religion teaches you?" Cas asked the holder of the sign, an older man with a hardened glint in his eyes.

"We have to save those who are leading lives of sin."

Cas tilted his head again. "Yes, that is why I am doing this."

Cas pulled out his gun, and fired several shots at the protesters. Several fell to the ground, blood swelling out of their wounds. People screamed and felt and the street was consumed in chaos.

Cas looked around the madness, and stared out into the center. "I know your secrets, Dean Winchester, and I will use them to destroy you. Your move, Winchester."

The killer turned his back on the crowd and melted into the chaos, making his escape. He ran as fast as he could back to his car, and jumped in it, immediately revving the engine. He didn't stop driving until he was states away. He knew someone had gotten that on video, and the clip was probably already circling the news stations.

The move had been gutsy, and dangerous. Cas had a high risk of getting caught, and had passed more than one speeding police car on his way out of the city. But now the public knew Dean and Cas were connected, and their little game was surfacing all over. Dean would be forced to find Cas soon, before he jeopardized them even more.

Cas would have to sleep in his car tonight, and change his plates too. He briefly considered just ditching the Mustang all together, but reasoned that it blended in well enough with the average traffic.

Now all that was left to do was wait.


	5. Recklessness

Dean was pissed. Absolutely, completely infuriated. When Bobby had called him with the latest news, Dean cussed, yelled, and threw punches at walls. He currently had a large bruise swelling up along his knuckles. Cas had deliberately thrown both of them right into the public eye. Not just fuzzy camera clips, or little slips of evidence. Full on names, appearances, and a public declaration the two were in contact. The police would be scrambling all over the states, and Dean's life had just become a living hell.

Not to mention, the whole "I know your secrets". Cas was flaunting his upper hand, and Dean had no idea if he was bluffing or not. He assumed he had kept everything under wraps, but he also seriously doubted Cas would do something that big without having some serious blackmail. A small part of Dean was terrified at what was going to come of this.

Pressing down the desire to slam his fist into the wall again, Dean starting shoving things into his bags. If Cas could be wild and reckless, then so could Dean. There was no way he was letting this new guy show him up. Two could play at this game, and Dean was all in.

All the while he drove, Dean pieced together a plan. It was sloppy, but he didn't care. The need for precision and caution had long been disposed of. All he needed to do was make a scene, and that was simple. Almost no planning needed, just guns and blood.

Dean didn't even care about driving the Impala around. The car was definitely characteristic to Dean, and he usually took the precaution of parking in some dark lot and walking around town. He alone could usually blend into a crowd, but the Impala stuck out like a sore thumb.

Now, however, he just drove down the streets with no regard to who saw him. He parked in a lot close to the highway. He needed a quick escape now more than ever.

Marching out with his leather jacket wrapped close around him, and his gun tucked into his jeans, he strode to a large crowd of people in a nearby park.

They were laughing and dancing to the music of some local band. There were women holding children, and some kids ran around playing games of tag or hide and seek. Lovers held hands or kissed. Others just sat stretched out on their picnic blankets, enjoying the music. No one saw Dean walk right up to the edge of the crowd.

Dean started firing shots haphazardly, not caring who he hit. People fell down. Mothers clutched their children and ran. A few men tried to run at Dean and take him down, but Dean was quicker, and shot them down. The music had stopped, but there was still a cacophony of noise.

A woman was taking out her cell phone, presumably to call the police. Dean pointed his gun at her. "Stop." She shook in fear, and stared at Dean wide eyed.

"Do you have a video camera?" Dean asked, gesturing to the phone.

The woman stayed silent, shaking even harder.

"Do you have a camera?!" Dean roared.

Her silence broke and tears slid down her face as she sobbed. She nodded.

"Turn it on. You can give this to the police." Dean said, spitting out the words with a deep vehemence.

The woman turned her phone on, and Dean looked right at it. "Come and find me, Cas! I'm right here! You wanna play? Fine! Let's play! But I hope you know what you're getting yourself into! COME AND GET ME!"

Dean looked up from the phone and met the woman's eyes. Anger coursed through him as he smirked manically. He shot her straight in the chest, and the phone dropped. Dean picked up the phone and stopped the recording, and set it back down on the dying woman.

He shed his jacket and pocketed his gun. He fled into the crowd, blending in with the confused mass of people stampeding down the streets. The Impala wasn't far away, and Dean soon got into it and drove off.

He could hear the sirens wailing, and his heart nearly pounded out of his chest as he raced down the roads. He couldn't leave the city, because Cas would be coming to find him, but he still needed to hide.

There was a large expanse of trees on a stretch of the highway, with a small dirt road running back through it. Dean swerved off the road, earning him several irritated honks, and drove down it. He followed it a long way back until he reached a desolate, broken down house. That would work just fine.

The Impala was driven and parked far into the back woods, and Dean went into the house. There was a basement, and Dean set up camp down there, ready to bolt any minute.

He wasn't worried about Cas being find him. A killer was a killer. They all knew how to hide, and Cas would easily be able to pinpoint where Dean would be at. Dean just hoped the police wouldn't.

Dean sat up in a chair, facing the sole entrance to the basement, gun aimed at the doorway. Under his breath, he mumbled. "I'm waiting, Cas."


	6. What I Know About You

As soon as the news report had come in, Cas had set off. He climbed into the Mustang, speeding down the highway. Dean was being stupid now, and it was just what Cas wanted. He had guessed right in thinking that the killer would become angry and lose control. Admittedly, it pulled himself into the spotlight more, but Cas still had an upper hand.

Upon Dean's invitation, Cas decided that it was finally time to meet his competitor in person. Cas was unsure how the meeting would go. Dean could very well try to kill him on the spot. Cas almost expected it, and certainly wasn't going to go into this without his gun cocked and at the ready. However, Cas wasn't out to kill Dean. No, he had a much better punishment.

Upon reaching the area of Dean's latest slaughter, Cas perused the area for several hours. He stayed out of the main network of the city; it was on high alert and Dean wouldn't be anywhere near there anyway. Instead he drifted on back roads and along the highways, looking for somewhere Dean would be. Somewhere he himself would hide.

Cas had tried several dirt roads or broken down dumps on the side of the road, none of which yielded any results. He persisted, however, and continued to try any plausible area. The next one to catch his eye almost disappeared among the line of trees. The light was growing dim and the shadows nearly drowned it out, but the little dirt path wound back into the trees. Cas pulled off the highway and slowly crawled down the trail, looking for a place Dean might be.

The Mustang jumped and jostled along the bumpy road until it came to a stand still outside a crappy house, mold growing along its wood, and no doubt an infestation of every insect imaginable. It did have four walls, but 'wall' was a bit of an exaggeration at times.

Cas didn't see the Impala, but he didn't expect to. Light was continuing to dwindle, and he didn't want to search that house in total darkness. Time to go, then. Cas pulled his gun out of the glove compartment and held onto it tightly.

With his gun pointed in front of him, Cas hesitantly pushed open the door, wincing as it creaked. He tread carefully, trying to minimize the noise he made. A quick inspection of the decaying house revealed nothing, and Cas was just about to leave when he saw a small door he had missed before. It was probably just a closet, but Cas was nothing if not thorough.

He pulled open the door expecting old eaten coats and a moth-ball stench, but instead saw a treacherous looking flight of stairs. They descended into a rather dark basement, and Cas smiled a little to himself.

He tiptoed down the stairs, gun still at the ready. He reached the bottom, and stepped onto cold hard concrete. A turn slightly around the corner revealed Dean sitting in a rickety chair, face lit up by a cheap gas lamp, gun in his hand.

"I thought you stood me up." He drawled, training his gun onto Cas. Cas responded likewise.

"We had an appointment, Dean Winchester."

"Yeah, well, let's get down to business then, shall we?"

Cas cocked an eyebrow. "I had presumed you might try to shoot me dead on the spot."

Dean chuckled darkly. "Oh, no, Cas. Not yet. We're only getting started."

Dean stood up suddenly, and Cas's finger twitched minutely on the trigger. He could feel his heart climbing up into his throat.

Dean paced slightly, looking positively predatory. "What the hell do you know?"

It was Cas's turn to laugh. "Oh, I know a lot, Dean. I am pleased that's what you want to talk about. I was hoping we would get to have this discussion."

Dean stopped pacing and snapped his eyes to Cas's poorly lit face. "Well talk then." He spat.

"Your mother. Do you miss her?" Cas inquired. Dean froze all over, his whole body stiffening. "It was a terrible accident, wasn't it? A blown electrical wire while everyone was sleeping, a few stray sparks that caught on the carpet. No one could have seen it coming, surely it was no one's fault."

"What the hell are you getting at?" Dean growled, all vehemence and anger. "What the _hell_ are you getting at?!"

"But your mother, sweet little Mary. She'd gotten out at first, and was under the presumption everyone had gotten out as well." Cas paused and smirked. "But, John was still in there. So were you, and little Sammy."

Dean felt his skin grow hot, and bristled, gritting his teeth.

"And then John found you, and gave you Sammy, and told you to run. 'Go, Dean. Take your brother and run.' John looked for Mary, but she was trapped now. She had been trying to save Sammy, who was probably crying in his crib. That's where they found the remains, right where his crib had been."

"You shut the fuck up!" Dean yelled, shaking with anger. "Or, I swear to God, I will blow you brains out!" Every word strained against Dean's clenched teeth.

Cas just laughed again. "No you won't, because I know even more than that. You blame you brother, don't you?" Cas stared at Dean, meeting his eyes in the dim light. "Nothing would please you more than to shoot a bullet right through him, watching him die a slow agonizing death, like your mother. He should pay for his sins, shouldn't he, Dean?"

Dean felt the muscles in his finger twitch and clench near the trigger. Anger pulsed through him like magma, igniting him from the inside and blurring his thoughts.

"Well I'm going to take that from you. I dislike you, Dean. And I am not just going to kill you. I'm going to make you suffer. I am going to take away your one purpose in life, and then one of these days, I am going to come back and find you, and I will kill you." Cas growled, staring fiercely at Dean. A strange look had come over his face, contorting it into a terrifying glare.

Dean snapped and fired his gun.


	7. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Dean Winchester was an excellent shot. The only people who could perhaps hit a target better than he were trained military professionals. And even then, only perhaps. All those long, dark years spent shooting at rabbits, food cans, even scratchy targets drawn on the wall, had turned Dean into a machine. There was nothing to it anymore. Aim, pull the trigger, done. He couldn't remember the last time he missed.

Dean didn't miss this time either. He hit Cas exactly where he aimed. Blood seeped out of the wound, staining Cas' fingers red as he clutched at it. He staggered back, and Dean dropped his gun as he approached Cas.

Dean lifted up Cas by the collar, and shoved him down onto the ground. Blinded by the pain, it was easy. Cas hit the ground with a thunk, coughing as the air rushed out of him. Dean placed the heel of his boot on the wound, right on Cas' shoulder, and dug in.

Cas let out a sharp hiss and a yell, and Dean laughed hysterically. "You really want to play, don't you?" Dean's voice dropped into a low, menacing octave. "Well let me tell you how I play. I'm going to let you go. I'm going to let you live, but not forever. Oh no, one of these days, I am going to come after you. It could be tomorrow, or it could be years. Your whole life will be spent wondering where I am, because I am going to spend my whole life planning to kill _you._"

Dean twisted his shoe into Cas' shoulder again, and he let out another strangled yelp. As Dean laughed, he reached down to grab Cas' shirt collar again. He lifted up slightly, and then slammed Cas' head down onto the floor, knocking him out. Cas' head lolled back on his neck, and a tiny trickle of blood emanated from where it had made impact.

Dean picked up Cas' gun and placed it in his holster, keeping his own in his hand. He grabbed his dufflebag from next to the chair he had been waiting in and ascended back to the first floor of the house. He took his time walking into the woods to retrieve the Impala. Cas would definitely be out for a few hours, giving Dean plenty of time to get on his way.

Before placing his bag in the trunk, Dean pulled out a small leather-bound journal. It had papers hanging out of it, and was very clearly well used. Dean rifled through the pages, revealing a tiny scrawl decorating the yellowing pages. Years of notes were scribbled down in this journal, from the moment Dean had started hunting to now. They were all focused around one person: Sam.

Dean flipped to the back of the journal, where his last entry was. A rumpled photograph was pasted in, cut out from some newspaper.

_Pre-law student Sam Winchester speaks about the great campus at Stanford University. "It's full of wonderful people," he said, "I've got great friends, a beautiful girlfriend, I love it here."_

Dean closed the journal and got into the Impala and started out on his long drive. School was still going on, so Sam would still be on campus, making him ridiculously easy to find. It was child's play for Dean. Admittedly, he had not quite planned it all this way. Dean was going to wait till the end of the semester. Sam could quietly disappear on the 'holidays' and it would be a while before people really figured it out. Dean would have had time to cover his tracks. But lately it seemed like everything was to be dived into head first, and this was no exception.

As he drove along the highway, he recounted his meeting with Cas in his mind. Anger flushed through him anew. Sam was _his_. No one was going to take that revenge from him, certainly not some punk-ass kid like Cas. Dean relished the sound Cas' head had made as it slammed into the hard floor of the basement.

Dean drove endlessly, for hours and hours until he couldn't possibly continue. He stopped and slept for a few hours, and then drove some more. Time was crucial, but he at least had the advantage of Cas being equally slowed down.

Dean arrived in the area, and breathed out a heavy sigh as he parked the Impala. He wanted to eat, drink a few beers, and sleep. His eyes felt heavy on his face, but he was not going to let his life goal be wrenched away from him because he had to take a damn nap. With that in mind, Dean took out his journal, and begin to review his notes, mumbling small things to himself.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."


	8. Hand of God

Cas woke up with a pounding in his head and curses spilling from his lips. A quick assessment revealed a throbbing bruise on the back of his head and a stiff pain in his shoulder. With a grunt, he pulled himself up off the floor, head spinning as he righted himself. He felt stability come back to his thoughts, and searched around for his gun. He patted his jeans and looked on the floor, but it was no where to be found. Cas let out a loud curse.

He took the stairs two at a time, running out towards his Mustang. He had to go. He had to find Sam, because that was where Dean was going to be. No longer was this a little game. It was full blown war, a fight to the death.

As Cas revved up the engine, he dug through his mind trying to remember what he had learned about Sam. There had been an article, Sam lived somewhere out west, but Cas couldn't bring back a full memory. He started off on the highway anyway, watching the miles flee behind him.

He winced at his shoulder, the bullet probably still lodged in there. He needed to get it out, but he didn't have the time nor the equipment. Cas still felt a little dizzy from the blood loss. Or maybe it was the concussion he was sure he had. Cas also lamented the loss of his gun. It wasn't as if he didn't have any others. The trunk was full of almost every legal firearm there was, and a few illegal ones. But that was his favorite. He knew its workings: the slight curve to the right when he fired the bullet, so minuscule most would miss it; the smooth pull of the trigger; and the crisp bang it made. He would get that gun back, even if it was over Dean's body. And in all likelihood, it would be.

Cas let his thoughts drift back to Sam. He was still searching for the state he lived in. Cas knew he attended a university as well, and a good one. Cas had never gone to college, and was relatively unfamiliar with the ones in the area. As another mile marked flashed past the window of the Mustang, Cas' eyes popped up in realization. Stanford, California. He remembered now. Sam was just laying himself out in the open.

Cas briefly contemplated his options. There was careful planning, a clean, crisp murder, with no evidence. With a glance at the clock, however, Cas remembered that Dean was hours ahead of him, and he certainly wasn't going to be methodical. Besides, if the media didn't know who Cas was by now, they were dumber than he perceived. That left the inevitable. Cas was going to blow Sam out of his path, with little regard to who got caught in the crossfire.

With his mind fixed on his plan of action, Cas was free to pass the remaining miles nursing his wounds and thinking about whatever came to him. He let his train of thought wander, way back to a dream he had once had.

Cas Novak. You have been given a job, a duty." Cas shivered as the cold voice tingled his spine.

_"Who are you?" He asked, fearful of the mysterious speaker. _

_"I am God. You must go, Cas. You must rid the world of these evils. Bestow my wrath upon them as if you were as soldier of the Lord." The voice boomed around in Cas' skull, and he shivered again. Everything was black, except a small circle of light he stood in._

_"But how?" Cas asked in a quiet whisper. "How do I dispose of it?"_

_There was no reply._

Cas remembered back to that night. He woke up in a cold sweat, the echos of the strange dream reverberating through him. It was the middle of the night, but he switched on a lamp, and dug around his room for an old battered Bible. He had gone to church before, but he wasn't exactly religious. He mostly attended because his parents had trained him to.

He flipped open the hefty book to a random page and began to read. It was a tale of a curse upon Egypt. Something about the first-born sons being murdered. But those who believed in God would be saved. The unrighteous were condemned.

Cas closed the book and closed his eyes. He knew his task. He couldn't deny what he felt — an overwhelming need to serve, to work in the name of God.

Cas Novak was eighteen then.

At twenty, he committed his first murder, a man he had seen trying to rape a young woman in an alleyway. He had removed a scourge from the planet. He was convinced he was serving in God's name. He must be. The voice in the dream had told him so.

From then on Cas had aimed to obliterate all the black stains from humanity. He calculated kills and murdered wrongdoers. Thieves, perverts, even other killers. Anything that stained what Cas believed to be God's most expansive creation. It was his duty to purify it as best he could.

At times, especially early on, Cas doubted his role. However, he always remembered the voice. The cold chill that had startled him late in the night. And with that thought in mind, he would reload his gun, drive his Mustang, and kill again. _Yes_, he thought, _I am doing right. I am cleaning the_ _world of its sin. I am a purifier. I will remove all these grotesque blemishes of humanity. _

To Cas, nothing disfigured humanity quite like Dean Winchester.


	9. Chalk Outlines

_"Boy, you better watch yourself."_

"Yeah, shut up and just give me the address."

_"Hell of a lot of thanks I get._

"Yeah, yeah. You're a doll." Dean spat out sarcastically.

The speaker crackled and Dean jotted down Sam's address. He clipped the phone shut, but he could swear he still heard Bobby cursing on the other end. Dean put the cell away, and gripped the steering wheel, breathing shakily. He felt a coil down in his chest, a tight spring of anxiety and excitement. He felt like he was going to vomit, but he also felt like he was on top of the world. The conflicting emotions were enough to hold him still in his seat for a minute, engine running, but foot firmly planted upon the brake. Finally, he switched over to the gas, and the Impala roared to life as it took off toward Sam.

The miles seemed to pass by in irregular intervals. Sometimes they were mind blowing slow. Other times they flew away like sand on a windy beach. It was a strange sort of limbo where the clock on the dash seemed to be out of sync with the rest of the world.

Dean grabbed the piece of paper he had scribbled the address upon. He looked up at the building in front of him. He checked to make sure the numbers matched again and again. The building was quaint. It seemed to hold a decent amount of apartments of less than stellar quality. It was probably well-occupied by college students.

Dean took his time milling over his guns. There was his favorite, of course. And he knew that he would settle on that one eventually. However, he took his time examining each barrel and round, giving himself an excuse to stall.

The pressing matter of both Cas' imminent arrival and the fact his face had been on the news more times than he could count forced Dean to load his gun and start up towards Sam's apartment.

He climbed the stairs slowly, keeping his head down. The nervousness was climbing out of his chest and into his throat, and he tried hopelessly to swallow it down. He reached the third floor, and checked his paper again. Third floor it was. Fourth room. Dean shoved it in his pocket, and proceeded down the hallway. _304._

Dean checked down the rest of the hallway for any people, but none were to be found. He knelt down on the floor so he was eyelevel with the doorknob. Cheap furnishings were no match for Dean's arsenal of bobby pins, and the lock was jimmied open in seconds, without any sign of a struggle. Dean slowly turned the doorknob and walked in.

The front room was empty, and Dean's whole body tightened up in anticipation. Sam could be in any of the other rooms, and it made it much harder for Dean to maintain an element of surprise. He stood quietly in the doorway for a moment, gun raised, and listened. It was silence, until a laugh bubbled from what Dean suspected was the bedroom. However, it wasn't the laughter of a man. It was high-pitched, and feminine.

_Well shit._

Dean took a deep breath and headed towards the bedroom anyway, mentally steeling himself up. He felt himself slip into hunter-mode, an instinctive setting for him. It was tainted by Dean's nervousness, but he stamped it down as best as he could, pushing it to the back of his mind. He was on a mission. He had spent years leading up to this, and he was not going to be stopped because he was a little apprehensive.

The door was cracked, and Dean could now hear voices coming from inside it. The light, airy voice of a woman, and the deeper rumble of Sam. Dean kicked open the door, keeping both his hands on the gun.

The girl screamed, and Dean knew she would. Sam reached out towards her, a pretty blonde thing. His large frame covered her. Sam's eyes were wide, a disbelieving recognition within them.

"Hello, little brother." Dean growled. He locked eyes with his brother. "Get her out of here."

Sam pulled his girl closer, putting himself completely in front of her. The girl let out a whimper that sounded something like "Sam, no. Please."

Dean's voiced echoed in the room again, low and menacing. "I am not going to shoot her unless you make me, Sam. You want her safe? Let her go."

Sam turned to the girl, his eyes still flickering back to Dean rapidly. "Jess, go. Just go, I'll be okay, it'll be okay, just go."

Jess' eyes welled up. "Sam, no. He's got a gun, Sam!" She clung to Sam, who kissed her on the forehead, but then pushed her away.

"Jess, please, go. Just go."

Jess shakily let go of Sam, sobbing. She was dressed in her pajamas, considering it was early in the morning. The sun glared brightly through the window as it ascended into the sky.

"I love you, Jess." Sam said.

Jess let out a heavier sob. Dean was growing impatient.

"Just get the hell out or I'll shoot you!"

Jess flew out the door, but Dean stopped her for a second, and lean down close to her ear and whispered. "You call the cops, and I will find you. I've been tracking little Sammy here for years. You are no challenge." Dean moved out of the way, and Jess flew out of the apartment.

Dean turned his attention back to Sam. "She's pretty."

Sam glared at him. "What do you want, Dean?" He swallowed heavily, trying to stare down his brother.

Dean laughed. "Guy can't stop by to say hello to his own flesh and blood?" Dean was smiling, but something dark flashed through his expression when he acknowledged Sam and his relation.

"Not when he's a psychopath." Spit out Sam. "Are you here to kill me?" He said, trying not to let his voice shake.

"You're clever, aren't you? Got accepted into Stanford, all by yourself. Didn't need Dad's help at all, did you?" Dean paused for a second. "That was the last time we saw each other, wasn't it? Dad's funeral?"

"If you're going to kill me, just do it, Dean." Sam said. He kept a straight face, but his fists clenched in the sheets he was still sitting on.

Dean let out a laugh again. "Oh no. It's not that easy, Sam. You don't get off without a little guilt trip." Dean's face grew dark, all traces of his malicious humor completely gone.

"It's your fault Mom is gone. She went back to save _you_, and she _died_!" Dean's tone was hysterical, full of uncontrolled anger. He let out a shaky laugh, like a madman. "You think I'm twisted, don't you? All full of little nasty kinks and knots. You think I'm fucked up. Well you were the one who made me like this." Dean's laugh grew louder and louder.

"_You_ killed Mom. _You_ drove me to this. All those people you've seen me shoot clean through on the news? They died because of _you._ It's all your fault. Every. Last. Body. It's on _your_ shoulders."

Sam stared at Dean with wide, stunned eyes. "No. You killed them. It wasn't me. I didn't do anything." Sam tried to sound sure of himself, but the guilt was already crushing in on him. He had failed to take responsibility for his brother. His own family was out killing people, and what had he ever done about it?

Dean chuckled again, this time low and evil. "I can see the guilt in your eyes, Sam. How does it feel, knowing you're the cause of so many innocent lives being taken? Does it bother you?" He took at step closer to Sam. "I can tell you one thing. It didn't bother me."

A shot rang out and Sam fell back onto the sheets, red pouring out over his bare chest. Dean, however, hadn't fired a shot. He turned around bewildered to see Cas standing in the doorway, ominous trenchcoat filling the space in the doorframe.

Cas smiled a smile that reached up to his blue eyes. "I told you I was going to take that from you, Dean."

Dean, enraged, spun and fired his gun several times. The shots rang out through the tiny room, crashing in Dean's ears. "You son of a bitch!" He screamed through the shots. "You _son of a bitch!_"

Cas crumpled in the doorway onto his face, blood seeping out everywhere. Dean couldn't tell if he had hit anything vital, but the blood loss was going to kill him quicker than anything. Dean kicked him over, and saw his stupid smile plastered on his face. His blue eyes had no life in them, but the expression was haunting. Dean dug his boot down into Cas's skull, relishing the crunch.

Still alive with rage, he turned to Sam's body and shot it a few times. It jumped off the bed slightly with the impact of the bullet, but Dean knew Sam had been dead ever since Cas shot him. Dean let out a yell. He threw his gun down on the floor, and punched the wall. Cheap apartments did not hold up well to fists, and the drywall cracked and broke.

Dean was in the middle of throwing things and breaking fragile objects when a crash came in through the front of the apartment. "Put your hands up! Put them up!" A voice yelled, and Dean just laughed and laughed.

That's how the police found him, laughing manically. A whole squadron of FBI agents crowded into the apartment, cornering Dean. Dean stopped his laughing, and looked at the array of law enforcement. Each one of them had a gun pointed at him.

Dean smiled, ignoring the yells and shouts and orders. He made a move to reach for his gun, and at least five bullets came rushing towards him.

* * *

The scene was crawling with FBI agents and cops so no one noticed when Bobby Singer slipped in with his less-than-authentic badge. He wormed his way into the bedroom, and stood in the doorframe. "Everyone move, please." He requested. People scuttled off, mostly clearing the room, except for a few forensic investigators. Bobby decided they were of no consequence.

He glanced over the blood stained floor and bed, covered in broken items. Three outlines decorated the otherwise rather plain room. One outlined in white by the door, one in black on the bed, and another in white in the middle of the room. A gun lay close to the middle one.

Bobby approached it, and looked at the dark stains around the surrounding carpet. The bodies had long since been removed, but the investigation was still going on. It was the murder of the century. Everything was crucial, right down to the dust on the window sill.

Bobby knelt down to the outline and ghosted his finger over the chalky white, hardly touching it. He shook his head and stood up, making his way out of the apartment.

In the parking lot, he noticed the Impala was still there, next to a sleek black Mustang. Of course, the Impala was evidence, but everyone was still inside save for a single cop by the cars. In fact, the crowded interior of the apartment was what let Bobby pick up the fallen car keys without anyone's notice. He slowly removed the yellow police tape around the parking space.

"Hey, you can't do that!" The police officer yelled.

Bobby pulled out his badge. "I sure as hell can. We're taking it in for further investigation. You got a problem with that, son?"

"No, no. My apologies, sir." The officer backed off, and Bobby cleared the tape. He got into the Impala and started the engine. He backed out of the parking lot, and was soon racing down the highway.

In the seat, there was Dean's old journal, full of notes about Sam. Bobby picked it up curiously as he drove. He recognized it. He had given it to Dean as a birthday present when he was young.

With a shake of his head, Bobby threw the journal back down into the seat of the Impala.

"I told ya, ya idjit." He murmured quietly. "I told ya"


End file.
